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THE DARK 



THE DARK 



BY 

ELLEN M. H. GATES 



NEW YORK 
1904 



USRAKYef CONSftESS 
Two Copies Kuceivcci 

DtC 21 15^04 

Copynefii entry 

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Copyright, 1904, by 

Ellen M. H. Gates 






THE DARK 

I am the Dark, the ancient one, 
Before the days and years begun, 
I hovered formless, silent, cold, 
And filled the void. No page unrolled, 
Makes mention of my timeless reign; 
No rock on mountain-top or plain. 
By scar or symbol, now can tell. 
The secrets that I know so well. 



I am the Dark, the first to be; 

My own beginning baffles me. 

I seemed a thin^ apart, forgot, 

Which was — because the Li^ht was not. 

I dwelt with Chaos; place I kept 

As atom unto atom crept, 

Till Order stood, with sinews set. 

And law with law like brothers met. 



I am the Dark, for still I stay, 
With half my kingdom wrenched away. 
There came an hour when all the black, 
A filmy screen, was folded back. 
Above me, through me, everywhere. 
Were scarlet streaks and golden glare; 
And mighty winds began to blow 
The trailing mist-wreaths to and fro. 



I am the Dark. The eye that sees 
The midnight moons and Pleiades, 
Must wait for me. I claim the sky 
To show the splendors swinging ^^S^ 
In space so deep, and wide, and black, 
That thought itself comes trembling back. 
The Sun may show the sea and sod, 
But I— the far-off fields of God ! 



I am the Dark. My paths I keep; 
No hour too soon the li^ht may creep 
Above the hills, no moment late 
The Sun may reach the western ^ate. 
The shadows are my own; their win^s 
They spread above all breathing things, 
Till joy and pain, and more and less. 
Are one in sleep's unconsciousness. 



I am the Dark. The under-world, 

With soundless rivers onward whirled, 

Is mine alone; and mine the lakes, 

O'er which the morning never breaks. 

I dwell in caverns, vast, unknown. 

Whose walls are wrought from primal stone; 

There Silence, Death, and I, can wait, — 

Creation's ^rim triumvirate ! 



I am the Dark, and forth and back, 
As God's own servant, robed in black, 
I ^o and come. His dead I keep 
Within my chambers while they sleep. 
Who knows my doom ? Perhaps, at last, 
I may be ended, outward cast 
From all that is, my deepest ni^ht 
Invaded by resistless li^ht ! 

Ellen M. H. Gates. 



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